


Facts of Life

by venhediss



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, mostly spec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venhediss/pseuds/venhediss
Summary: Jodariel had been young, talented but without military rank, putting herself to work to protect the people and the land she cared so deeply for. And then she had begun to lose them, one by one, while she yet stood. From beyond the grave they entrusted her with all that remained of themselves, their legacy. Over time, this became part of her new sense of normality, a skill set deeply and confusingly intertwined with the blood she spilled on the front.





	Facts of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a tumblr fic prompt fill, “something about pre-exile Jodi and her adjusting to fostering children”.

Captain Jodariel had not yet been a captain when first she had clutched at the bloody hand of a dying comrade, a woman not yet halfway through her years, and accepted her final request: to make sure the son she was leaving behind would be taken care of. Jodariel had searched for two weeks, a moon, contacting old friends, old friends’ parents and grandparents, asking, “can anyone raise this child?” But few enough wanted an orphan to begin with, and fewer still had resources and space to spare for yet another refugee from the Bloodborder. Jodariel set aside some of her salary whenever she was paid, and spent what time she could with the child, but as a flood of regretful responses came to her with the Commonwealth runners, she realized that she had taken on more than she initially thought. **  
**

She was uncomfortable at first, and awkward. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Her talent for military affairs meant that she’d had little time to do much other than serve on the Bloodborder. How long had it been since she had interacted with a child who wasn’t in shock, dying, starving? The boy left to her was named Carric; he was perhaps 10 years old, dark-skinned and somewhat gaunt, with deep-set, intelligent eyes. He was used to looking after himself in the periods when his mother was away. He could clean, cook basic meals, and generally take care of his needs. He hadn’t cried when he heard the news; he had barely reacted at all. A week later, over thin vegetable soup and small skewers of grilled meat, he confessed that it felt like she had begun to die a long time ago. A few tears dripped down his cheeks and he brushed them away, washing the lump in his throat down with a few hurried spoonfuls of soup. It was one of the first things he had said to her since he had arrived.

Carric had already been living in the military encampment, a rather permanent border installation with its own markets and improvised housing in addition to the barracks; visiting him while she was off shift was hardly difficult. Although Jodariel was still unsure where to start, cooking together seemed as reasonable as anything. Having a task at hand made words flow more easily, and made it easier to look away or drop a thread of conversation that became uncomfortable. Little by little, the boy solicited information about his mother: What had she been like in battle? (Reliable and quick on her feet.) Did she ever drink heavily? (Only if something worth celebrating had happened.) Had she spoken of his father? (Once or twice, but not in great detail.) Had she spoken of him? (Often, and with love.) How had she died?

This last he asked only many weeks after both he and Jodariel had tacitly acknowledged that he was officially under her care. His voice was tight, but his expression was controlled. He feared reopening something that he had been carefully putting in boxes, packing away out of Jodariel’s sight. “It was mere bad luck,” she answered. “We were simply scouting. The traps were so old they were practically a part of the landscape; it was beyond strange that they were still in working order. There was no failing on your mother’s part. Such things happen all the time.”

“It could’ve been you instead,” he said, flat, toneless.  _Why did it have to be my mother and not some stranger?_ , was what he meant.

“It could have been,” Jodariel agreed. “But it wasn’t. What comes next is what we make of it.” She wasn’t too sure of the meaning of those words, but they felt right. Some believed there was a greater plan, a celestial intention to everything, and Jodariel had to admit that the idea was tempting. But it was no remedy for the interminable suffering that happened on the Bloodborder. Purpose needed to be sought elsewhere, sought within.

He turned and left, then, hurrying back to his tent with the tight, fast step that Jodariel had come to associate with him. She might have pursued him, but felt it best to leave him with his thoughts. He did not mention their conversation again, but began to bring problems to her more often: a taunt from the older children in the town, a plant he didn’t know the name of, a word that was new to him, a minor scrape or bruise. Together, they worked out the solutions. From the beginning, neither he nor Jodariel had quite known what they were going into, but she felt that despite the unseen but almost tangible barriers between them, they had made something of it that was comforting, in some measure, for both of them.

Not six moons later, she heard of the passing of yet another comrade, though more distant than the first, someone who had been transferred to a different part of the Border two or three years earlier. He left a six-year-old girl, and the remaining family, impoverished without a soldier’s income, began to seek other options. So it was that they somehow heard of her and her orphan boy, and so it was that when Jodariel returned home one evening, she found her foster son playing a counting game with yet another child that she had never seen.

Carric’s help was invaluable in keeping up with this newest addition to their makeshift family, stitched together from pieces torn asunder by sporadic warfare. He kept her entertained, took her with him to market, taught her words and stars and stories and songs and, by extension, taught Jodariel how to teach those things as well. The girl was a pale little thing, small for her age but thankfully healthy, and took to both her new brother and Jodariel in no time. She understood some of what had befallen her but displayed an astounding resilience despite her circumstances.

Within a year, Jodariel’s entourage had gained some notoriety, and Jodariel herself had gained rank. She had successfully led a major mission after her superior officer had been incapacitated, and she caught the eye of the Commonwealth military elite, who offered her higher pay, and a larger and more formal living space for those she had come to call her family, in return for a longer term of service. She accepted on the spot, and it turned out to be a good thing that she had. Over the next year and a half, a series of well-coordinated surprise attacks left her with a significantly heavier heart, and three more children under her care.

Carric was 15 when she was awarded the rank of captain. He watched the ceremony proudly while his other siblings scoured the market for treats and supplies for dinner, and hugged Jodariel tightly, joyfully, when it was over. But then his mood turned as he glanced down at his feet. He had grown taller recently, and now stood only a few inches shorter than Jodariel.

“I want to go to the capital,” he said quietly. Then, with more conviction: “I…I’ve always thought about what you said, that what we get out of our lives is up to us. You keep watch all the time, to protect us, and that means something for you, but I…well, I don’t think staying here is what I want to get out of my life.”

Jodariel was stunned, and asked the only thing that came to mind. “What will you do?”

“Learn a trade,” he said. “Build myself up. Maybe even find someone to settle down with…away from here.”

“You’ve made up your mind on this.” It wasn’t a question. Despite his evasiveness, she could tell he had been thinking for some time, and was quite resolved. She was the last person to try to sway someone who was searching for their purpose, and she couldn’t deny that any life was better than one lived on the Bloodborder.

“I have,” came the firm response. “I’ve packed already. I was waiting to say goodbye to everyone…and to you.”

“I see.” A long silence stretched between them, laden with things neither of them knew how to put into words. Finally, Jodariel laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Well, let’s go see what’s for dinner, shall we?”

The evening meal proceeded with a somewhat forced jubilance. The older children seemed to have some sense of what was happening before their brother stood up to make his announcement, but the two youngest bawled, and clung to his legs, and were only consoled when he promised to send treats back from the city with the military couriers. They tired themselves out with their grief, and Carric and Jodariel carried them to their small, simple beds, tucking them in before returning to the main room.

It was just before dawn when he finally departed, waving goodbye to the contingent that had stayed awake all night to see him off, two sisters and a brother fighting to stay awake as they leaned on Jodariel’s shoulders and watched their sibling’s form disappear into the distance. And then they, too, were off to bed, each hugging their foster mother in turn, although whether they sought to comfort her or themselves was unclear.

Jodariel was left alone to think as the sun rose, scarlet-tinged, on a new day. She could scarce remember how it had come to this. She had been young, talented but without rank, putting herself to work to protect the people and the land she cared so deeply for. And then she had begun to lose them, one by one, while she yet stood. From beyond the grave they entrusted her with all that remained of themselves, their legacy. She was humbled, and overwhelmed, to have been chosen thus. It had seemed a burden at times, but her orphans had helped support one another, and had turned back to support her in turn. They met her halfway, when she couldn’t find the right words to soothe a nightmare or an aching heart. And over time, it had become her new sense of normality, a skill set deeply and contradictorily entwined with her work on the front. She fought to protect them; was this not simply an extension of that same goal?

And now, as she stared into the gap in the landscape where her first child had disappeared, she knew she would also have to see them go. This, too, she accepted, and if she shed a tear or two, no one would ever know.

Captain Jodariel had stared death in the face countless times. Death was a fact of life on the Bloodborder, the sword’s edge held between peoples. But it did not have to be the only fact of life, and there was something more to be had.

With one last glance at the horizon, Jodariel turned, went inside the home she still shared with so many others, and began to contemplate breakfast.


End file.
